


Just In Stories

by little_abyss



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Consensual, Developing Relationship, M/M, Mages and Templars, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 06:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18773416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/pseuds/little_abyss
Summary: A beginning; Cullen attempts to hide his nature and Samson finds him out.





	Just In Stories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GhostGarrison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostGarrison/gifts).
  * Inspired by [No Scarves](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18157907) by [GhostGarrison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostGarrison/pseuds/GhostGarrison). 



His chest rises and falls; it looks as if he’s breathing. Cullen smiles shyly at the dark-haired man sitting across from him on a narrow barracks bed, an instinct making him aware that this is what this man needs. “Hello,” he says, and blinks. The man grins at him, rises and holds out his hand.

“Alright?” he asks. Cullen lets his smile broaden, ducks his chin a little closer to his chest. The wool of his tunic seems to scratch against his skin; the man’s hand is warm in his. He can feel the pulse in his fingers, the stronger thrum of it in his wrist. How much he wants to crush the narrow bones of this hand, to take the wrist between his teeth, bite down hard on the skin and feed on what lies just underneath. Blood. Maker, just the thought of it… Sudden desperation; another fake breath in and Cullen drops his eyes from the man’s stare. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, “I’m Cullen. Rutherford. Uh, I was told…”

“Don’t be sorry,” the man says. “I’m Raleigh Samson. Guess you’re Victor’s replacement?”

Maker, that pulse. Samson pulls his hand from Cullen’s; just in time, Cullen looks up to see the knowing smirk on Samson’s lip. Oh.  _ He thinks it’s about sex _ , that new instinct whispers _ , Let him _ . Cullen turns his gaze away again. Just as the breath in his dead lungs is an act, so is this. If this Samson wants him, so be it. Blood that’s willing, blood that comes without the acrid tang of fear… that’s an intriguing idea. That’s a different kind of hunt.

 

In the weeks that follow his transfer, Cullen waits. He feeds on rats, for the most part, though occasionally he will find a drunk alone in Darktown and take what he can. This city, it cares nothing for death. The Gallows is knee-deep in it, the Fade stretched thin and weeping into reality, making everything seem slightly off-kilter. He can feel it. He knows Samson can too, though he says nothing in the day. It’s in the night, when Cullen lies awake, pretending to sleep, that Samson reveals himself most. Restless, he tosses and turns, speaks and shouts. Sometimes he wakes himself with a start; more than once, Cullen has observed him through half-closed eyes as Samson stares wildly about the room then runs both hands through his hair and lies down again. Cullen remembers the dreams. He no longer needs sleep,  _ she _ saw to that when she changed him into this… this  _ thing _ … but he remembers what it is like to wake in fear. He wonders on these nights what Samson would do if he found out.

-|||-

When his opportunity comes, it takes him by surprise. It’s still early evening, but there had been a bad Harrowing earlier in the day, and Meredith had confined those present to their quarters. Samson and Cullen both had been in the guard for it. The remembered shriek of the mageling as he’d seemed to burst, blood ripping its way through his suddenly-liquid flesh… Cullen makes a face, trying to concentrate on the feel of the soft cord in his hands as he ties his loose sleeping trousers in place. His hands shake: partly with shock, partly with the memory of the scent of it. He’d had to exert every shred of his self control not to simply fall on the dying mage and feed and feed and feed. 

He hears Samson say something quietly behind him. It isn’t until a moment later that he registers the words:  _ I think there’s something you gotta tell me. _

Cullen laughs a little, softly, and turns. Samson stares at him, on first glance relaxed, but… there’s a tension to the set of his shoulders, a hard curiosity in his gaze, and suddenly, Cullen feels it — Samson knows. But he cocks his head and asks politely, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“There’s something you gotta tell me,” Samson repeats, and lowers his chin. The room is so narrow that, standing like this, their chests almost touch. “Been watchin’ you. Thought it was just… y’know. I know what… I heard what Kinloch was like. Be enough to fuck anyone up, really. But I don’t think it’s just that.” Samson pauses, his mouth open a little, seeming to consider. In that moment, Cullen feels his instincts stretch outward, to pull together and weigh each chance that this opportunity affords him. This calculated consideration is so new to him still, so blindingly swift, that it almost happens in the background. So it is a reluctant action when he looks aside and mutters into Samson’s silence, “You’re right. It’s… not just that.”

Samson makes a noise of assent and shuffles a little. For a brief moment, Cullen closes his eyes, then murmurs, “I was… human, once. Not any more.” He hesitates, keeping his eyes closed. The word breaks loose from his lips suddenly: “Vampire.”

Silence for a moment, then Samson swallows audibly and Cullen opens his eyes. Samson is looking at him steadily, his expression betraying nothing. “Yeah?” he asks warily, then takes a deep breath in. “Thought that was just stories.” 

Cullen shakes his head, though he says nothing, his instinct telling him to keep his eyes on the wall. Finally, Samson asks, “What you doin’ for… y’know. Food.”

 

Cullen nods. Still not looking at Samson, he says quietly, “I can’t eat the things that you can. I don’t know if you’ve noticed it - I try not to eat with the others. It’s… a little embarrassing.”

“Yeah?” Samson asks again, but this time there is a belligerence undercutting his tone. “You’ve not been at the ‘prentices, have ya?”

Cullen shakes his head, and from the corner of his eye sees Samson relax. “C’mon then,” he says, and Cullen looks at him. Samson smiles slightly, that same lopsided, almost shy grin. “You can tell me. Honest, I won’t tell a soul.” He pauses, and the grin dies. “I just… I guess I’m a little… curious.”

 

Cullen gives a half-laugh. “Rats,” he says simply, and shrugs, looking away again. This half-bashful act seems to be having the desired response - Samson, instead of looking disgusted, snorts his own quiet laugh, then lapses into a thoughtful silence. Cullen shakes his head and sighs. “I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

Slowly, Samson nods. He is frowning slightly, looking at Cullen. His mouth twists a little as they watch each other, then Samson’s throat works and he blurts, “What about me?”

Cullen blinks, his stomach tightening as hunger and excitement wash through him. This is what he wanted; blood given, the taste of submission without fear.  _ Slowly _ , he tells himself, and shakes his head, frowning. “What about you? What do you mean?”

“Well,” Samson says hesitantly, “You don’t  _ have _ to kill to eat, do you?”

Again, Cullen shakes his head, a confused expression on his face.  _ Make him say it _ , something in him exalts _ , Make him ask you to feed from him. He’ll come to you more sweetly if he thinks it was his idea... _

Samson nods, takes a short breath and sighs it out. “So… if you want… I’m just sayin’, must be better than eatin’ rats… and I mean, I don’t wanna die, but…” Unconsciously, he rubs his neck, then looks at Cullen. “Think you can hide the marks?”

Slowly, Cullen nods. He lets his lips part, feeling the thrum of Samson’s heartbeat, so close, closing the infinitesimal distance between them so that their chests touch, one hand going to Samson’s hip, then he hesitates. “Are you sure?” he breathes.

By way of answer, Samson cocks his head, offering his bare throat to Cullen. The thump of the pulse in his neck jumps, just under his skin; Cullen can almost see the flow of blood. He swallows saliva, sudden desire making his mouth well with it, then murmurs, “You should sit. It’ll be easier.”

“Uh huh,” Samson tells him, and sits promptly. He looks up at Cullen, a half-smile on his lips, looking both shy and cunning. “Where’re you gonna be then?”

By way of answer, Cullen moves, opening his legs to straddle Samson’s hips, knees pressing into the thin mattress. “Alright?” he murmurs, gently putting his hands either side of Samson’s throat, stroking, stroking, his calloused fingers soft against the skin. Samson’s breath hitches, his grin dies, and he nods, eyes serious.

“I’ll bite here,” Cullen tells him, rubbing his thumb along the spot where Samson’s throat meets his shoulder. “That way you can hide it. And… I will try not to take too much, but tell me if you feel weak or…”

“Uh huh,” Samson mutters gruffly. “C’mon. Do it.”

Cullen nods, not lifting his eyes from Samson’s throat. Gently, he cups Samson’s chin and tilts his head up and to one side, the other hand on his shoulder, settling his weight on Samson a little more, pushing him back a little further on the bed so that he rests on his elbows. He can feel Samson’s heart racing; it excites him, but he closes his eyes, concentrating hard on the scent of skin, the feel of it. Slowly, he opens his mouth, allowing his lips to graze the surface of Samson’s skin. Samson shudders and moans briefly, panting through his mouth. He’s ready. Cullen can feel it. So he opens his mouth wider and bites.

 

The blood which floods his mouth is sweet, gloriously hot. Samson moans again, quietly, and from far off, Cullen can feel his hands tighten against his back, his hips buck involuntarily into Cullens own. After that, he lies still, breath gradually shallowing, calming as Cullen drinks. As the initial shock wears off for Samson, the taste of his blood changes, becomes richer; it is quite unlike anything Cullen has ever tasted before. After several minutes, Cullen senses that he has taken enough; though he doesn’t want to stop feeding, he knows that if he wants to have this experience again, he must control himself. So he withdraws his mouth from Samson’s neck, lapping at the puncture wounds first, then licking his lips. As he draws back, he surreptitiously tries to wipe his chin; Samson catches his eye and, to Cullen’s surprise, smiles.

“How was it?” he rasps, sounding sleepy, but pleased. “Didn’t hurt much. Feels… kind of good.”

“Really?” Cullen asks, and smiles in return. There is a bruise blossoming on Samson’s neck, though the wounds themselves are healing. It’s the way; something in his saliva mends the skin. Gingerly, Cullen reaches out, rubbing his thumb over the bruise. “You’ll have to wear something over that.”

“Yeah,” Samson agrees, then yawns. Cullen chuckles; for himself, he feels more alive than he has in… oh, a long time.  _ Ironic, really _ , he considers, and slides to one side, off Samson, who blinks at him and sighs. 

“You need me again, I’m here,” he murmurs. Shifting on the bed, he lies down on top of the blankets, tucking his hands underneath his head to smile at the ceiling. Cullen nods and retreats to his own bed. For a moment, he sits, waiting for Samson to say something more. When it becomes apparent that nothing is forthcoming, Cullen shifts to lie upon it, resting on one elbow. Briefly, he watches Samson, then tells him, “Raleigh? Thank you. Sleep well.”

“Yeah. ‘S’alright. And… you too, Cullen.”

He moves his head slightly, catching Cullen’s eye. They gaze at each other, then Cullen smiles and blows out the candle. Darkness covers them both.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't help it, GhostGarrison - I really liked everything about your original story, so I took it upon myself to write it a beginning. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed the original.


End file.
